


Gemütlichkeit

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Getting Together, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 10:10:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7263757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not so much making room if the space is already there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gemütlichkeit

He's full of excuses the first time, none of which hold any water. First, he tells her that the Austrian plague, lying dormant until now, had finally struck him and made him lose his way as he returned from Moscow. Next, that he didn't want to risk running into Poland and ruining his otherwise good mood, and lastly, that he had felt like going for a walk through the neighborhood before he went back to Berlin, and guess what? He saw that she had mail waiting by her doorstep, so he considered it his comradely duty to guard it until she came home. And so that's exactly where she finds East Germany soaking wet and watching over the grand total of a newspaper and a small postcard from Warsaw.

Later, East confesses that he stood under the rain for a solid ten minutes before he decided to make for her building, that for a moment he thought she didn't want to open the door and was about to turn back when he noticed her mail, and that he's aware that the whole enterprise was nothing short of a risky bet, but he had no choice on the matter given that he was bound by adventure and daring. 

She raises one eyebrow at his speech and gives him a long look before she calls him silly, but she still invites him to come in. And while they haven't laid the groundwork for a non-aggression pact beforehand, she doesn’t really think they need one. They don't go beyond banter as of late, anyway, old rows forgotten, and if she may say so herself, they have settled into a rhythm that suits them just fine. Life behind the Iron Curtain isn't easy. There's no need to make it harder.

Hungary sets to prepare a bath for him—his hands are so cold—and as they wait for the pipes to warm, she picks a towel and starts to dry his hair. "Did I ever tell you how I used to keep my Komondor under lock on rainy days, lest he became a giant walking mop?" 

East laughs at that, his eyes impossibly bright, and before she knows it, there's a tickle in her heart. Hungary feels no urge to bolt out at the realization—she isn't a kid anymore, and if she has to be honest with herself, the feeling isn't unwelcome. His laughter has a way to fill the empty spaces, to chase away the loneliness from all the recesses where it still hides. Being a country gets lonely, sometimes.

He settles on the couch afterwards, and she brings a pillow and blankets for him, but they end up making a tent instead and go camping on her living room. A small part of her had always held onto the hope that one day they would share this sort of camaraderie again; there had been days when she had longed for it as children wait for the first snow of the year, the arrival of winter holidays, of hot chocolate and gingerbread cookies, of Christmas Day and presents. She doesn't have any expectations this time around. What will be, will be.

He drops by more often after that. And when it's her turn to pay him a visit on the occasion of a congress, East gives her a tour around the city before they bring her luggage to his apartment. She could have checked into a hotel like the rest of her delegation, but it seemed like such a waste. And besides, he insisted, making a great show of what he had to offer in terms of hospitality, even if neither of them have much to spare these days. That night, he leaves her the bed and she sleeps in bedsheets that have the same fresh out of the laundry scent of his clothes. He even leaves a mint on her pillow, and she finds that it's the little things that bring them comfort and keep them going. 

She makes breakfast for him on the days he spends the night. It's become a custom for him to return from Russia's house by taking the longest of shortcuts just to see her, just as it is for her to walk silently to her living room so that she can watch over him for a few minutes before she wakes him up. She presses her palm against the back of his hand and amuses herself thinking of cast iron wedding bands. "The coffee's growing cold, sleepyhead," Hungary says, lightly squeezing his hand.

"Good morning, darling," he teases her with a tiny smile, as if he were afraid that she's going to hit him for trying to get away with this instance of mock intimacy, and suddenly it's spring. Her feelings, which used to be small and budding, barely awake after wintry years of malnourishment and neglect, seem like they're in bloom.

Her grocery list makes way for all the kinds of things that aren't usually found in Berlin but that are easy enough to get in Budapest, she empties a drawer or two for his clothes, she places an extra toothbrush next to hers. She's content just having him in her life, but it comes to a point where it doesn't feel like something else would really be a stretch.

And so one day he returns from Moscow looking especially tired, and they hug without saying a word. Hungary has been there before—she doesn't have to ask to know that Russia has given him hell over something stupid that East can't help. Her fingers travel up and down his back to comfort him, and although this is the first time they are this close in a long time, it feels like part of their routine. She plates something for him, which he guzzles rather than eats. She regards him warmly. It really doesn't feel like giving the next step would be that outlandish, given that they're almost already there.

He goes to get a blanket for himself since he knows where everything is by now, but she stops him. "It's cold. Come to bed," Hungary says as if they needed an excuse, after all. She takes his hand and leads him to her room, and it feels awfully familiar. Her heart doesn't skip a beat, there's only a little bit of pressure around her chest, a faint ache. It feels like her heart is growing a size.

They don't even fight over which side of the bed each of them wants and she wonders how is that even possible. But the reason must be that this isn't how they begin, this is how they pick up from where they left all those years ago. He kisses her forehead, her nose, and when she asks for a _real_ goodnight kiss, East chuckles against her lips.

He sleeps in her arms. Her fingers smooth his hair until she falls asleep herself, and his hold keeps her from the cold until they wake up. The next morning is quiet as if the rest of the world hadn't woken up yet and they had it all for themselves, and when he throws the covers over their heads, it's even more perfect. That's what coming back home feels like, she finds. Peaceful, safe, and terribly warm.


End file.
